


Lord of the Swings

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Amusement Parks, Bucky and Steve act like 8-year-olds, Communication, F/M, Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nat and Tony aren't much better, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, SO MUCH FLUFF, Steve Rogers's Birthday, brief appearance from Wolverine, cake the size of your head, doing it right, it's better in the back (that's what he said), ridiculous amusement park prizes, they're all a bunch of adrenaline junkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Every year for Steve’s birthday, Bucky closes Dockside and takes his friends to Busch Gardens for a day of fun. This year, they’ve got Tony with them for the first time. It just might turn out to the best year ever. (Unrepentant fluff.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a fill for the [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com) prompt:  
>  _How about Bucky takes tony to a fair for a date/his birthday cos Tony's never been to one before and bucky using sniper and assassin skills wins everything tony wants, plus getting trapped on the ferris wheel at the top and lots of kisses_
> 
> This takes place between chapters 27 and 28 of [Safe and (the) Sound](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10573350). Even though this is a plotless fluff of a fic, you might want to read S&tS first, if you haven't already, just to get a feel for the AU.

Tony wasn’t really a morning person, but there were a few ways to wake up that he didn’t mind. Bucky bringing him a mug of fresh coffee. Bucky nibbling at the back of his neck, hand sliding lazily over Tony’s skin. Bucky singing ridiculous 80’s pop under his breath as he pulled on jeans to go out on the deck for his morning smoke.

Could he help it, if all his favorite ways to wake up involved his boyfriend? Bucky had _already_ been about the best part of Tony’s mornings.

Dog slobber, that was _not_ on Tony’s list of favorite ways to be woken.

“Ug, Lucky, stop, gross, get off,” he whined, pushing at the lump of fur that was panting hot dog breath into his face. Satisfied that Tony was awake, Lucky jumped down off the bed. Tony shoved off the blankets and sat up, scratching at his neck where one of Bucky’s love-bites was healing and itchy. He leaned over to squint at the alarm clock. “Ughhh,” he complained again, and glared at the dog. “You’re awful.”

Lucky’s tongue lolled out in a canine grin.

Tony sighed and climbed out of the bed. He didn’t bother with pants, just shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. Emptied his bladder, washed his hands, splashed his face. Checked out his reflection as he brushed his teeth. None of last night’s bites and hickeys were high enough that he’d need to borrow Nat’s concealer, at least. He grinned at them, and decided he could wait to shower and shave until after coffee.

Bucky was already in the tiny kitchen, humming and dancing as he cooked something. Tony dropped a smacking kiss on his shoulder before reaching for the full mug Bucky had left on the counter. “Morning,” he said into the first sip.

Instead of dancing impatiently by the front door, Lucky was sitting at the entrance to the kitchen, watching Bucky with all the attention in the world, waiting for something to drop. “You already walked him?” Tony said in surprise. “Christ, how long have you been up?”

“‘Bout an hour, or so,” Bucky said. He flicked his gaze over to Tony, then paused, noting the marks with a wry grin. “The sunrise was real pretty… not that you haven’t already given me your opinion on sunrises, so I didn’t wake you.” That had happened, Bucky’s desire to be romantic running smack into Tony’s utter loathing for the crack of dawn. Sometimes, Tony thought, his boyfriend was absolutely the _worst;_ being nudged awake to watch the sun come up had seemed more like a punishment than a special event. It was funny now, though.

“You do realize that we literally work until almost midnight, most nights. We’re allowed to sleep past six in the morning,” Tony said, hiding his smile in his mug. “What’ve we got planned-- Wait, it’s the Fourth. Day off, hot damn.”

Bucky shrugged. “I just can’t, anymore,” he said. “Get twitchy if I lay around too long, an’ you were sleeping.” He flipped the pancakes onto a plate and moved the griddle off the burner. “Here, blueberry pancakes, bacon, and… well, it was going to be an omelet, but pizza dog nudged me at the wrong time, so scrambled eggs with some add-ins.”

Tony took the plate and stole a kiss. “Sleeping in and coffee _and_ breakfast? I think I’ll keep you.” He fished a fork out of the drawer and took his plate and coffee out to sit on the sofa to eat. Bucky had a little dinette table and chairs, but if Tony sat on the sofa, Bucky was more likely to come and sit next to him.

Bucky fried up one last batch of bacon and recovered his own plate from the oven where he’d been keeping it warm. “Wait, Lucky,” he said, pushing at the dog. “It’s hot, you stupid mutt.” Lucky sat back down, then heaved a great sigh and trotted over to give Tony great big sad eyes of starvation. “You’ll want to eat all that. Busy day today. An’ the food’s gonna be expensive. And not particularly good, at that.”

“Captive audience food,” Tony agreed. He broke off a piece of bacon and tossed it for Lucky, then dug in, himself. “When’re we leaving?”

“Park opens at ten, so,” Bucky flicked his eyes at the clock. “Ninety minutes, give or take. Steve’ll be champing at the bit, but there’s this time delay between when the _park_ opens and when the rides get started, a fact that after so many years, you’d think he’d learn, but oh, no… and he’ll get real loud in the park if he can’t get his vertigo on right away.” Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve was a champion rant-and-raver, when he got going.

Tony laughed and shrugged. “It’s his party, he can bitch if he wants to?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” Bucky made a noise of agreement, rolling up one pancake and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, returning his plate to an elevated state to keep it away from the dog. “Spoiled.” He handed his plate to Tony. “Guard that for a minute, would you?” He brushed crumbs off his shirt, which Lucky promptly attacked. Bucky checked the bacon and dumped a few strips and some scrambled eggs into Lucky’s bowl and sat it on the floor.

“There, greedy thing,” he said, patting the dog fondly. “Probably a good thing he doesn’t speak English, he’d be all sorts of confused.” Bucky threw himself back down on the sofa and while he recovered his plate from Tony, he didn’t eat, just sort of watched Tony sidelong as he twiddled his fork in one hand.

“What?” Tony demanded after a bit. “Is my hair all sticking up again?” He shoved his fingers through it, trying to make it less fluffy.

Bucky leaned over, crowding into Tony’s space, his eyes glinting with interest. Easily, he divested Tony of his plate, setting it down on the battered coffee table. With an almost predatory motion, like a starving vampire, he swooped in on Tony’s throat and licked over one bruise there. “God, you’re so…” Bucky said something else, but as his lips were moving over Tony’s throat, it was a little difficult to concentrate.

Tony tipped his head, letting Bucky in, sinking into the sensation. “Nnngh, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, dropping his fork so he could slip his fingers into Bucky’s hair.

“Can’t help it,” Bucky said. He trailed his mouth up the side of Tony’s jaw and then planted a very light kiss on his lower lip. “You’re just… tempting.” He backed off again, taking a bite of eggs and trying to pretend that he wasn’t still ogling.

Tony sighed and picked up his fork again. “Don’t you dare make me walk around this place all day with a hard-on,” he warned. “There are children there. Impressionable young children.”

“Who are not the slightest bit interested in what’s going on in your pants,” Bucky pointed out. He polished off his eggs and pulled on a very prim and proper attitude. “But I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Tony didn’t believe that for a hot second, but Bucky might give him time to finish breakfast, at least. “As you should,” he said primly. “Except in the Tunnel of Love, of course.”

“They don’t actually have one of those,” Bucky said. “Shame, that. I suppose we could--” But whatever it was that they could have done got lost as Nat’s little commuter car pulled into the lot and Steve laid on the horn. Which might have been more annoying, except the car’s horn was barely louder than a kid’s bike. Meep! Meeeeeeeep! Meep. “Well, so much for that idea.”

Tony blinked, and leaned to look out the window. “You said ninety minutes!” he said. “I’m still in my boxers!”

Bucky leered. “I’d noticed that. I said we’d leave in ninety minutes. Go shower, I’ll delay the birthday boy.” He swatted Tony’s ass as Tony scurried for the shower, muttering and complaining the whole way.

Tony rushed through the fastest shower ever -- not like he wasn’t going to be drenched in sweat again by the time mid-day rolled around, he mostly just needed to rinse off the evidence of last night’s fun and get his beard soft enough to shave. He didn’t rush shaving -- he’d done that before and the results were worse than if he skipped it altogether. And if the park didn’t open until ten, then they could wait five more minutes.

Finally, wearing shorts and his thinnest white tee -- it was going to be broiling, no way was he wearing something dark or jeans -- he ducked out the door and jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. “You are in a very big hurry to stand in line,” he observed to Steve with a grin. “Happy birthday.”

“You are too pale,” Nat complained. She frowned at him, then pulled a bottle of spray sunblock out of her backpack. “Come here, before you turn into a crawdad.” She proceeded to attack him with the spray-on, which smelled weird and kept getting caught up in the breeze, which meant he got sunscreen in his mouth. Yuck.

Nat started digging through her bag again, handing Tony stuff as if his number one job in life was to be her portable shelf. “Bandaids, chapstick, granola bars, ziplock bags, hand sanitizer. Oh, here, you’ll want this.” She frowned, realized Tony had his arms full of her crap, and sighed. “Useless.” She snagged Tony’s sunglasses and fitted a bright orange strap onto them before sticking them haphazardly on his head.   

“Um.” Tony looked at Bucky, but Bucky just shrugged and grinned at him. Tony sighed and just waited for her to finish fussing. It was Nat; it was easier, always, to just let her have her way. It usually turned out that she was right, anyway.

“Can we go now?” Steve said, looking at his watch. Tony hadn’t seen it before; Steve usually didn’t wear any jewelry while in the kitchen. It was heavy gold with a well-scratched face and looked like the sort that actually had to be wound. “If we get there by nine-thirty, we’ll get to park in England.”

“It’s the 4th of July,” Bucky pointed out, like Steve didn’t already know that. “We’re parking in Italy and you know it. Just suck it up.”

“This is why I think we should get a hotel,” Steve said. “We could get started _first thing_.”

Bucky slid his sunglasses onto his nose for the sole purpose of being able to glare at Steve over the lenses. “No, we can’t. Relax. The park ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Tony turned to Nat. “Is this bickering going to stop once we’re actually there, or is this pretty much how the whole day is going to go? I just want to be prepared.”

Nat packed her stuff back into her bag and gave Tony a wide, somewhat sharp-toothed grin. “Worse. It will get worse.” She linked her arm with Tony’s. “I claim Antonishka for bumper cars, just so you are aware, Bucky.”

“Do you?” Tony asked. “You’ve never seen me drive.”

She patted his hand. “But I have seen them drive. Both of them. Believe me, I am safer with you.”

Bucky scoffed. “Keep that up, woman, and I will veto eating at the Festhaus this year.”

Nat glared. “You will not dare do that.” She turned to Tony, excited. “They have cake! The size of your head!”

“Nobody’s getting any cake unless we _get going_!” Steve protested.

Bucky sighed and gave it up, unlocking his truck. “Pass, please?” Nat handed him a badge attached to a lanyard. Bucky tossed it on the dashboard and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Tony opened both passenger doors and gestured grandly. “Waiting on you, now,” he told Steve, smirking.

Steve scoffed, but climbed into the truck behind Tony. “Can you move your seat up?” Tony continued to be amazed that Steve fit in that commuter car of Nat’s because he could already feel Steve’s knees digging into the back of his seat.

Tony almost said no, just to be a smartass, but it was the man’s birthday, after all. He’d half been expecting Steve to call shotgun and push Tony into the back with Nat. So he groped for the lever and yanked the seat as far forward as his own knees could stand. “That’ll have to do.”

“Steve gets first pick,” Bucky said, tossing his CD book into the back, then threw the truck into gear and spun out, churning a huge plume of gravel behind him as he peeled out of the parking lot. “Busch Gardens: bad food, long lines, and sunburn, here we come.”

Steve thumbed through the collection and finally selected a CD, handing it up. “This,” he said.

Bucky glanced at the disk. “Oh, god,” he said, then shoved it into the player.

Justin Timberlake started bringing the Sexy Back as Bucky pulled onto the interstate and headed north.

***

Nat snagged a map and started poring over the show schedule just as one of the roaming park photographers hounded in on Tony to get them all to pose for a picture in front of the wishing fountain. Two “say Vacation!”s and two clicks later, Bucky put the paper claim sheet in his pocket. Might be funny; the second picture they’d all managed to get rabbit ears up behind Steve -- Tony was actually standing on the lip of the fountain and leaning on Bucky’s shoulders to get up there -- and Steve hadn’t noticed.

“So, what is your thing?” Nat asked Tony, holding out the map.

“Why does he get first pick?” Steve demanded.

“He doesn’t,” Bucky said, reasonably, “but it’s going to take him longer because he doesn’t know what any of the stuff is. And we already know what Nat’s pick is.”

“Cake,” Nat said, nodding her head.

Tony studied the map; like a lot of amusement parks, it was arranged in more or less a circle, with a few side-loops. The place was divided into areas that were along a theme of various Western European countries (except for what appeared to be French Canada, which... why?), There were lots of rides, and shows for the non-thrill seekers, and (of course) shops and food stalls and restaurants. “I don’t know,” he said after a minute. “I don’t know anything about any of these rides.” He cocked his head at Steve. “What’s your first pick, then?”

“Griffin.”

Bucky groaned and rolled his forehead against the back of Tony’s shirt. “One of these days, he’s gonna give over getting revenge for my dragging him on Rebel Yell until he puked.”

Nat grabbed the map and started drawing on it with a pen from her pouch. “This, these rides, they all do loop-de-loops. This one is Mach Tower, good view of the park, but drops you sixty feet. This one is magnetic, fun, fast, but breaks down a lot. Water slides. Roman Rapids, more water, a lot more water.”

“Hm. Water should be right after lunch,” Tony mused, “when it’s almost as hot as it’s going to get and when we have enough time to dry off before we go home.” He glanced up at the other tourists streaming past them. “Any particular reason we have to pick? I figured we’d just... follow the path and do whatever looked interesting.”

Nat stepped back and pointed at Bucky and then at Steve, doing the Vanna White arms. “Exhibit A and Exhibit B. If we each pick one thing that we must do to make us happy for the day, it prevents a couple of overgrown man-children from acting like squabbling siblings.”

Steve mock-scowled. “When have I _ever_ stood in the way of you having more cake than can possibly fit in that stomach of yours?”

Bucky facepalmed. “Oh, now he’s done it.” He snatched the map and looked down the schedule. While he was going through the list of shows, Nat started listing a very precise number of times and visits where Nat did not get to do her things that ended with a very large, loud complaint about having never _ever_ gotten to feed the lorikeets.

“Uh, okay then,” Tony said faintly. “And Exhibit C, I see.” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder.  “You got any hanging ‘coasters? The kind where your feet are swinging free? I love those. Feels like you’re flying.”

“Also Griffin,” Bucky said, “and Alpengeist. France… and France. That’s convenient. And there’s ice cream in the middle, which might get Miss Deprived of Caloric Goodness to cool her jets.”

“Okay, well, if Steve’s called Griffin, I’ll claim Alpengeist, and then I get to ride both.” Tony grinned at Bucky, so happy it felt like his face might split. “What’s your pick?”

“Pet Shenanigans.”

“The animal show? Really? Dorrrrrrrk,” Tony teased. He laced their fingers together and squeezed. God Bucky really was a total dork. Tony loved it.

“What? It’s cute,” Bucky protested, absently rescuing his hand to tap the description of the show. “And Lucky came from a show, once, you know. I mean, not this nice, this is a nice show. Rescue animals and stuff.”

“Right,” Steve said. He snatched the map and folded it up, stuffing it in his back pocket. “We’re on a mission. Come on, people, daylight’s burning!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “We are not soldiers,” he told Steve, but they all followed him anyway, deeper into the park.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There were good and bad things about following in Steve’s wake. One of the good ones was there _was_ a wake; Steve was so big and so blond that people sort of scattered. One of the bad ones was that Steve was so big and so blond that other people sometimes stopped to stare at him. A whole clutch of teenage girls staggered to a halt to gawk and giggle, which prevented them from getting across the train tracks before the bar came down. The girls thought this was hilarious; Steve looked exasperated.

Bucky leaned over to say in Tony’s ear, “This is why I keep him in the kitchen.”

Tony laughed. “But the _tips_ he’d make...”

“All the medical bills I’d have to pay, people choking on their drinks,” Bucky pointed out.

Nat’s entire body radiated smugness as the train finally passed by and Steve rather deliberately put his arm around her, drawing her in close.

The park was clean, and the pathways wound up and down hills, over little rivers, and through groves of trees. There were thick tended flowers in pots and strings of multicolored fairy lights adored little alcoves with benches. The benches seemed to attract bag-holders and families with infants in strollers. They entered the main Italy area and Nat dragged them all in the direction of DaVinci’s Cradle, a centrifuge-type ride.

“Center, or back?” Bucky asked as they got closer to the front of the line.

Tony watched the ride swinging, calculating relative force and accelerations without really thinking about it. “It’s the same movement everywhere,” he pointed out. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“No, no,” Steve protested. “It’s more fun in the back. Feels different.”

Bucky choked, his neck turning red. “Oh, my _God_ , Steve,” he managed, before practically falling on Tony, giggling like a madman.

Tony wasn’t doing much better, leaning on Bucky so they were propping each other up, laughing helplessly.

Steve blinked, confused. “What? What did I say?”  

Somehow, that only made it funnier. “Maybe not quite as tragically straight as you thought, hm?” Tony managed to gasp out, elbowing Bucky.

Steve finally got the joke, and flushed. “I was talking about the _ride_ ,” he said, which got Nat started and she smacked him in the shoulder. “You three are _hopeless_.”

“So very not smooth,” Bucky wheezed, then mostly managed to get himself under control. “Right, back of the ride, it is.”

***

It took Tony a while to realize what was happening, but once he noticed, he couldn’t _stop_. Steve’s arm went around Nat’s shoulders, or they held hands. She leaned against Steve when they were waiting in line, and occasionally tipped her head up to demand a kiss.

Bucky knocked shoulders with Tony, shoved and pushed playfully, ruffled Tony’s hair... but stayed a careful step away. He smiled as brightly as ever, but kept his hands stuffed in his pockets when he wasn’t using them.

Tony had never really bothered with being closeted, but he knew what it looked like. Everyone in Sandbridge, more or less, knew Bucky was gay, so they didn’t bother trying to hide it. But here, surrounded by strangers...

He shouldn’t take it personally. It had nothing to do with Tony, and everything to do with growing up surrounded by homophobic asshats. It still stung, though; a couple of weeks ago, Bucky had been talking about wanting to show Tony off.

Tony was still arguing with himself when they finally stopped to eat at the huge dining hall where Nat gleefully went in search of her cake. They paid for their food (Tony winced at the cost, but at least the portions were good-sized) and found space at one of the long bench-style tables. Bucky slid in next to Tony, but left enough space between them for Sam’s nephew.

Nat caught up a few minutes later with enough cake for all four of them. The slices weren’t _quite_ the size of Tony’s head, but they sure as hell _tried_ , towers of alternating chocolate cake and whipped cream topped with a bright maraschino cherry.

Nat shoved in at the end, forcing Bucky to scoot over to accommodate her, sitting across from Steve instead of next to him. “Here is cake,” she said, as if everyone in the nearby vicinity couldn’t tell that, or she was speaking to very small children. She dropped forks in front of everyone and then passed out slices. When Steve shoved a plate full of spicy-smelling sausages in front of her, she scoffed. “Eat dessert first, Steven,” she said, looking down her nose at him. “Life is uncertain.” She plucked her cherry off the top and dropped it on Bucky’s piece. “For you, because I know you love them.”

Steve didn’t quite wince when she kicked him under the table. He stared at his cake for a moment, then at his fiancée, then at his best friend before heaving a huge sigh, like he was making some monumental sacrifice, and then added his cherry to Bucky’s cake. “Here, pal.”

It had only been weeks, though it seemed longer, since Nat had dragged Tony out for ice cream and brightly explained that Bucky could tie a daisy-chain of cherry-stems in his mouth. Having experienced that mouth in action, Tony could believe it.

It would still be something to see. He plucked the cherry off his cake and dropped it on Bucky’s plate, too, grinning a challenge.

“I ain’t exactly feeling the generosity here,” Bucky said. “Someone’s been tellin’ tales out of class.”

“You will not make a liar of me, James Buchanan Barnes,” Nat declared.

Tony leaned on the table and propped his head on his hand. “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Success will be rewarded.”

Bucky pointed a finger at Nat. “You are a _meddler_ ,” he accused, though Nat was not the least bit repentant. He sighed, mock-dramatically, then popped one cherry in his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds, swallowed, then opened his mouth for the next one, keeping his hands flat on the table, fingers spread.

Nat made a shooing motion at Tony, so he picked up a cherry and dropped it into Bucky’s mouth. At home, he’d have said something teasing and flirty to go with it, but... He shook it off, and watched Bucky’s jaw work.

Bucky flicked his tongue out, pushing the end of a stem and flattened his lips around it, then his tongue worked inside his mouth, rolling and twisting. He swallowed again, then muttered something around the stems. “Ah, got it. Next.”

He proceeded through the four stems, his face taking on a dreamy sort of concentration, eyes focused on something Tony couldn’t see. He paused, rolled his tongue through his mouth one last time, then slowly pushed the chain out of his mouth, each stem knotted once, linked through another one, until all four were laying on his hand in a little chain.

He opened his mouth and stretched his tongue out a few times, like he had a sore muscle or something. “Jeez, four’s hard,” he complained.

_So am I_ , Tony wanted to purr into his ear. He’d known Bucky’s tongue was talented, but _Jesus Christ_. He bit back the words only an instant before they left his mouth, grimacing as they turned sour on him, and dropped his head onto his folded arms instead and contented himself with, “Holy fuck.”

The lights in the building dimmed as the music came up and drew attention to the stage in the center of the hall. Bucky took advantage of the dimmer light and distraction, sliding one hand under the table and brushing his fingers against Tony’s knee. “You okay?” he said, low in Tony’s ear.

“...Mostly,” Tony muttered. “Not used to hiding. Wish we’d talked before so I know what’s okay and what isn’t.”

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Bucky swore. His hand closed over Tony’s knee. “Shit. Baby, I…” He trailed off, uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” Tony said, voice pitched low. He glanced up, back down at the table. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be out in public, that’s... That’s a totally valid choice. I’m not going to be that asshole. I just, I haven’t ever... I need a rulebook.”

“It’s totally not okay,” Bucky whispered, fiercely, “if it’s hurting you. Come on, Tony, look at me a second?”

Tony pulled his eyes up. It was harder than it should have been. Bucky looked so worried, so upset, Tony couldn’t help leaning into him for a moment, the sketch of a hug. _I’m not hurting_ , he almost said, but that was a lie. “It only hurts,” he said carefully, trying to sort out his own feelings, “because I wasn’t expecting it. We’re not, we don’t... not at home. I didn’t realize.”

Bucky sighed. “You’re supposed to kick me when I’m hurting your feelings,” he reminded. “Nat’s been taking over your job here. I didn’t… I’m always like this, if I’m not home, or in Ghent. I… once bitten, and all that. But, Tony, I… I ain’t ashamed of you.”

Tony knew that, but it still felt better to hear it. “I know,” he said. “It’s... We should’ve talked about it before, is all. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, just to make me feel better. Your feelings count too, you know.”

“You’re right,” Bucky said. “We should have talked about it before; I assumed, and you did, too. We’ll work on that. Promise. You know, I mostly got into the habit ‘cause of Steve. Not that I was hiding it _from_ him, but if someone else called me somethin’ ugly, Steve’d bristle up like a wet cat and jump right into it, all eighty pounds of ‘im, soaking wet.” Bucky smiled fondly at the memory. “But you’re right, Tony. We shouldn’t have to hide. I… I can’t promise people won’t get ugly, though, ‘cause they do. I shouldn’t make you -- Baby, you shouldn’t have to feel the same way I did, when my dad used to tell me t’ stop actin’ like a faggot where everyone could see it. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Tony grimaced. “You shouldn’t have to feel that way either. What a dick thing to say to your kid. And I know people here aren’t quite the same as they were back in New York, I _know_ \-- it’s not bad to want to just... avoid dealing with it. I get that. I just wanted to be in on the decision.” He glanced around -- everyone was clapping and singing along with the stage show -- and leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek.

“Day’s not over, babe,” Bucky pointed out. “Fuck, this is _stupid_. We could legally _be married_ , and if people say shit, they’re gonna say it. I’d rather piss off a whole bus full of people than upset you. I don’t need to be scared, anymore. Who the fuck’s gonna say shit around Steve these days, anyway? I guarantee, he’s no less likely to pick a fight than he was then.” Bucky put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and drew him up against Bucky’s side.

Tony hesitated for a moment, then let himself lean into it. If he felt a twinge of guilt for pushing Bucky, it was all but swallowed by the sense of relief. _Stupid_ , he chided himself, but his emotional state continued to remain largely unaffected by his logical arguments. “Hell, it would probably make Steve’s day to get to tell someone off for being a jackass.”

“Well, when that happens, we can claim it’s a birthday present,” Bucky said. The show ended a few minutes later, and when they got up to dump their trays, Bucky took hold of Tony’s hand, stiffening defiantly for a moment, then relaxing as no one said anything. Nat came up on Tony’s other side and pressed something into Tony’s other hand. When he looked down, he found Nat had put the cherry-stem chain into a ziplock bag. She winked at him, before skipping ahead to catch up with Steve.

***

“Swings, really?” Tony asked dubiously, looking up at the giant tilt-a-whirl contraption swinging people around in a circle. “ _Really_?”

Nat lifted an eyebrow at him, her supercilious expression was truly terrifying. “Are you saying there is something _wrong_ with wanting to ride the swings?”

Tony held up his hands in mock-surrender. It wasn’t like Nat hadn’t been on a campaign, practically, to get Tony to loosen up and be childish from time to time. “I just want to point out that we all just ate pieces of cake the size of our _heads_ , and getting spun in a circle may not be the best choice for keeping it down.”

“It will pack it in,” Nat said, reasonably. “Give us room to eat more.”

Steve groaned. “That _does not work_ , Natalia. I swear, it does not.” He turned to Tony, very seriously. “You should consider moving away before Thanksgiving comes around. We’ll have to roll you out, the way Nat forces food on people.”

Tony didn’t doubt it, but he thought it sounded nice, actually. Nat liked to arrange people to her satisfaction -- make sure they dressed and ate and played... appropriately. According to some standard that seemed to always be in motion. But far from feeling like _control_ , to Tony, having Nat fuss over him just felt... warm. Caring. _Nice_. “It sounds like fun,” he told Steve. He eyed the length of the line for the swings as they joined the end of the queue. “This one’s long enough, maybe we’ll digest the cake before we get to the ride.”

“You’ll be fine,” Bucky said. He hopped up onto the metal people separator and sat, pulling Tony over to lean on him. The way the ride went, spinning thirty or so people at a time, there was a lot of just standing to be done. At least the line was shaded; although the music was repetitive and the line of banter from the operator got old, really fast. “Steve hurled once, though, at King’s Dominion, back when we were like, what, fourteen or so, Stevie?”

Steve glared. “I was _thirteen_ , and the damn ride went _backward_. I didn’t expect that,” he protested.

Tony grinned; Steve sounded so offended that you’d think losing your lunch on an amusement park ride was some kind of terrible faux pas.

Bucky snickered and made very faint -- but disturbingly realistic -- vomiting noises, enough so that the people in line in front of them took a cautious step away before glancing back.

Which got the two of them going again, pushing, shoving, bickering and debating, along with sharing stories about the worst, most embarrassing things the other could remember.

It got bad enough at one point that Bucky was in the middle of telling a complicated story involving a middle-school dance that Steve clamped a hand over Bucky’s mouth.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Buck!” Steve exclaimed, then wiped his hand down Tony’s shirt. “ _Gross_.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, even if he couldn’t stop laughing, “how come you’re wiping it off on _me_?” He appealed to Nat. “Leash your man, would you?”

Nat leaned back, eyeing Steve with interest. “Do you think blue is a good color for him? I think red is very overdone for those sorts of things. And black… pffft. Everyone has a black collar.”

Steve turned a very bright shade of pink at that. “You… you are…” He shook a finger at Tony. “You are a _terrible_ influence on her!”

They were still bickering by the time they made it to the head of the line. Nat grabbed Tony’s arm and dragged him over to a set of swings. “You can sit by me,” she declared, as if this was some sort of great honor, and put herself on the outside edge, where there was no room for Steve, or Bucky.

Tony obediently sat next to her and fumbled the little restraining bar into place. “You don’t want to sit with Steve for this, do you? What aren’t you telling me?”

Nat risked a glance over her shoulder. “Oh. He is behind _you_.”  

The ride operator went through her routine again. The ride pulled everyone off the ground, leaving dozens of pairs of flip-flops behind and then slowly started circling. Halfway through the first turn, Tony got a mighty lurch and his swing shot forward an additional five or six feet.

“What the--” Tony twisted around to look behind him. Steve had on his wide-eyed innocent face and was looking off to the side at the scenery, and Tony wasn’t fooled even a little.

A moment later, Nat shrieked as her swing rocketed ahead. “Bucky, no!”

The two of them had it pretty well timed, every circle that the swings made, both Nat and Tony got shoved forward, the whole seat shaking back and forth, which made the motion a little more stomach-turning than expected.

Nat was halfway turned around in her chair, waving a hand at them and yelling in Russian when the ride unexpectedly slowed.

“What the-- that wasn’t even half as long as it’s supposed to be,” Tony complained, twisting again to find the operator. She was staring right at... him? No, not him. Steve and Bucky, behind him. “Did you assholes get us kicked off the ride?” he demanded.

“Oops,” Bucky said, ducking his head and giving his best adorable smile. The ride operator was _not_ impressed. She came over personally to unlatch Steve and Bucky and then sent them on to the exit, berating them the entire time. A moment later, she was back at her station and started the ride up again.

“Oh, look,” Nat said, pointing. “We can wave at them.” Which she did. Grinning. Hugely.

The next time the swings looped around toward them, Tony joined her. Maybe the swings were okay.

Nat very pointedly didn’t say anything when the ride came to a halt and they were met by their boyfriends at the gate. She just smirked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said, looping one arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulling him in tight. “Come on, Lord of the Swings, let’s go hit up the bumper cars, where Steve’s jackass tendencies won’t get us kicked out of the park.”


	3. Chapter 3

“It gets hotter every summer,” Nat complained, shading her eyes and glaring up at the sun as if it was personally and maliciously responsible for her being uncomfortable. The paths were covered with dark concrete, radiating heat through the thin soles of Tony’s sneakers. He couldn’t quite understand the sheer number of people wearing flip-flops.

“Water rides?” Steve suggested. Steve had noticed that Bucky and Tony were being more affectionate, and he’d gotten into it, rather aggressively putting his arm around Bucky from time to time and glaring at anyone who even thought about looking in their direction.

It was touching. Kind of sweet, if glaring could be considered sweet. “Seconded,” Tony agreed. “It’s that or the indoor shows, and there’s only so many of those we can stand before they get boring.”

“At some point, we should catch the Irish dance one, and let blondie here get back to his roots,” Bucky said. He didn’t quite have to get on tip-toe to mess up Steve’s hair like Tony did, but Steve shoved him anyway, and they got into a little mock-wrestling that ended as soon as Nat grabbed both of them by the ear and dragged them back in the direction of the Roman Rapids.

Steve laughed, extricated himself, and swooped Nat up, tossing her over one broad shoulder like she was a squirmy sack of potatoes. She struggled for a moment, then just propped herself up on her elbows. “It’s easier than walking,” she said to Tony, philosophically, as if talking while being abducted was a normal part of her life.

“Sure, if the blood rushing to your head doesn’t make you pass out,” Tony agreed. “No,” he told Bucky, without even looking over. “Don’t even.”

“What? You’re not that heavy,” Bucky said, grinning. “Used t’ carry Stevie on my back all the time, when he was all asthmatic and shit.”

“He fails to mention the _shit_ part was me getting punched hard enough that I couldn’t stand up,” Steve said. He managed to carry Nat all the way up the hill before he finally put her down. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“I had a big breakfast,” she said, brushing the wrinkles out of her shirt.

“That’s not news,” Tony pointed out. He dodged the smack she aimed at him. “What! That should be a compliment, that you can eat as much as you do and still be that hot!”

Nat preened and took Tony’s arm. “I like this one better. I think I will upgrade. Charming and adorable and travel-sized, rather than… how do you say? A cave person?”

“Guess that means I _finally_ get Steve,” Bucky said, turning his most overblown ridiculous adoring face on his best friend, batting his eyelashes.

Tony laughed and pointed at Steve. “This is your own fault. I _told_ you guys to stop talking up Nat at me. Though _travel-sized_ , really?” He pouted at Nat. “I’m like _two inches_ shorter than Bucky, I’m not exactly _tiny_.”

“Eh, take her,” Steve said, slinging an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “She’s so _bossy_.”

Nat linked hands with Tony. “You just seem smaller. I want to put a bow on you and tuck you in my pocket.” She groaned as they came up on the line for the Rapids. “You stay here, and I will go get us a drink. She didn’t, however, relinquish Tony’s hand, dragging him off with her in search of the nearest soda cart.  

“I’m just small in comparison to Steve,” Tony said. “Which, y’know, I’m pretty sure there are professional football players smaller than Steve.” He eyed the line for drinks -- hot as it was, it was long, but moving pretty quickly, at least. “This makes him a better candidate for carrying stuff for you, you know that, right?”

“You can manage two sodas, I am thinking,” Nat said. “And sometimes it is best to remind certain pig-headed men that they will miss us.” The line moved a few more steps and the scent of cinnamon churros wafted in their direction as someone got a snack as well as a drink. “MMmmmmm.” She eyed Tony surreptitiously. “I will share with you, if you do not tell on me.”

Seriously, where the hell did she put it all? “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. They really did smell good. “I don’t know how much they’re going to miss us when we’re only gone fifteen minutes. They won’t even have gone all the way around the snake-line.”

Churro and drinks secured, Nat led them over to a little bench, tearing the dessert down the middle (mostly -- she spent a needless forty seconds or so measuring the two halves before handing Tony the slightly smaller side) to enjoy their treat. “You are having a good day? Not too tired, yet? We will be here very long. The fireworks don’t start until nine, and then we must walk all the way back to the parking lot.” She bit her churro with relish.

Mm, cinnamon and sugar and just the right amount of fried-dough crispness. “I’m having fun,” he said. “I could wish it was a little less crowded and a lot less hot, but.” He shrugged. “I promise I won’t pass out from heat exhaustion. Look, I’m taking breaks and staying hydrated and everything.”

Nat finished off her snack and wiped her hands on a napkin. She eyed Tony for a long moment then hugged him hard enough to squeeze the breath out of him. “I am so glad you are here! You are so good for us, and we are pretty good for you, too, I think. I’ve very proud of you, Antonishka.” She messed up his hair again; god only knew what it looked like after multiple roller-coasters and everyone having their hands in it.

“You’re the best,” Tony agreed. “All of you, I mean. I...” He shrugged. “Thanks.” The sun was beating down on his neck, he could practically feel it frying. He’d have to put more sunscreen on when they got out of the water rides.

They got back to the line with drinks and Nat made a hole for them by mostly talking in very loud Russian and pointing and pretending she didn’t understand anyone, letting Tony follow behind her until they got back to Steve and Bucky.

“Are we playing the ‘I don’t speak English’ card again, Natalia?” Bucky asked her, eyebrow raised. He leaned over Tony’s arm to steal a gulp of soda, and as he straightened, he sniffed. Blinked at Tony, then pulled him in closer, inhaling near Tony’s hair. “You…” He made a grouchy sound, tugging Tony’s chin up.

Before Tony could even react, Bucky’s mouth was on his -- and not a sweet, safe-for-public-consumption peck, but a slow, deliberate exploration, tongue teasing past Tony’s lips and stealing the breath from his lungs, and--

“You little sneak!” Bucky exclaimed after pulling back, licking his lips. “You had a churro!”

“...Yes,” Tony said, keeping his arm around Bucky’s waist and not looking in Nat’s direction. “They were right there at the drink cart. Is that against some rule you all forgot to tell me?”

“ _Unfair_ ,” Bucky complained. “I am deeply, deeply wounded. You definitely owe me.”

The line continued to snake around slowly, up stairs, and finally, finally, they were overlooking the ride itself, tucked back as it was among the trees. The people coming off the ride resembled little more than colorful drowned rats. Almost everyone was sopping wet. A few groups of people were crowding into coin-operated people-dryers.

Tony eyed the dryers dubiously. He could understand not wanting to deal with the chafing of clothes as they dried, but god, stepping in front of heated air in this weather? No. Just... no. He could smell the chlorine coming off the water; it was maddening to be this close to it and not _in_ it. At least there was shade, this close to the front of the line.

They made it across the line and down onto the moving platform, then into the boats; huge rubber tires with seats around a wheel. The benches were drenched, so sitting down was mildly uncomfortable. Loose seatbelts (also drenched and clammy) went around them, Bucky and Tony on one side, Nat and Steve on the other. The ride attendant gave a shove to their boat and they were on their way.

The ride was almost peaceful, at first, little splashes of water curling over the sides as they rounded corners and went down little dips. Nat and Steve exchanged a dangerously conspiratorial glance.

“What’s that look?” Tony demanded. “What’s--” Nat and Steve _leaned_ , making the little boat spin around just as they rounded a curve, and a deluge spilled right on Tony and Bucky’s heads. “Oh my _god_ ,” Tony sputtered.

Bucky spat water and a mouthful of Russian that made Nat widen her eyes with delighted faux-innocence.

“Language, Buck,” Steve said, smirking.

“Grab hold, Tony, and pull with me,” Bucky instructed, bracing his feet on the inner spokes. “There’s a waterfall coming up. Pull, _pull_.”

Tony laughed and braced himself, trying to pull the boat around. “Vengeance shall be ours!” he declared.

Steve was big enough that he managed to lurch the boat to a halt, but Bucky just switched directions, using the momentum against them. The boat spun obediently and the waterfall came down exactly over Nat’s head, getting Steve with a great deal of the backsplash and turning Nat into a hundred and twenty pounds of pissed off Ukrainian. The volume of her shrieking could probably be heard all over the park.

Tony cackled and high-fived Bucky. The rest of the ride was, of course, a war to drench each other as much as possible. It was a Pyrrhic sort of victory in which everyone was a casualty. They staggered off the ride, each of them weighed down by soaked clothing, feet squishing in their shoes. Steve peeled his tee shirt off, spun it around, wringing water from it.

“God save me,” Bucky groaned, burying his face in his hand. “I just can’t look at that.” A few seconds later he yelped, jumping away from Tony as Steve finished winding his tee up and used it like a whip, leaving a red mark on Bucky’s leg. “Ow! Bastard!”

“Oh, that’s just mean, Rogers,” Tony said. He gathered up the hem of his shirt and rung it out as much as he could without actually taking it off, and then sighed and gave it up as pointless, given the amount of water still dripping out of his hair. He turned to Bucky to say something, and immediately forgot what because the water had turned Bucky’s t-shirt translucent and it wasn’t leaving much to the imagination.

Nat pulled out a washcloth from her pack, sealed inside a ziplock and wiped her face and hair, fluffing the red mess out in tangles before crunching it up to give it some body. “Now we will go watch shows,” she decided, grabbing Steve’s hand and forcing him to pull his shirt on awkwardly one-handed. “My feet are getting tired.”

Bucky scowled, rubbing at his leg. He fell behind a bit. “Ow. I am going to kill him. Eventually.”

“Does it help if I promise to kiss it better for you later?” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows. “Or is this more of a _help plot revenge_ situation?”

“Definitely a help plot revenge situation,” Bucky said. He grinned at Tony and then practically hauled himself up a hill by main force, using Tony as a crutch. When they crested the ridge, he whispered in Tony’s ear, “But yeah, you can kiss it better, too.” He glanced at Tony, then his neck turned red and he rather deliberately averted his eyes.

Tony looked down. Oh. Also wearing a thin white tee. Also drenched. Also showing pretty much everything, including two hickeys that Tony could see without even needing a mirror. He grinned and tucked himself against Bucky’s side. “See something you like?”

Bucky groaned. “Every damn day, darlin’,” he said. “Come on, long legs is gettin’ ahead of us.” Bucky inhaled, grabbed Tony’s hand, and didn’t _quite_ run down the hill to plow into Steve’s broad back, but they did almost clothesline him from behind.

***

The midway of Germany was full of carnival games; ring on a bottle, basketball, soccer, pop the balloon and other chancy activities designed to separate park-goers from their dollars in hopes of winning ridiculously over-sized stuffed animals. This year’s batch of prizes were giant hot peppers wearing Mexican hats, the yellow minions from the _Despicable Me_ movies blown up to at least double the size they’d be if they were real, and a stall that had various stuffed robots from old science fiction movies.

Tony wandered from game to game, watching for a short time and then explaining how the odds had been stacked against the players: oval basketball hoops, deceptively thick bottle necks, dull darts and underinflated balloons -- there were a hundred tricks, many of which weren’t hard to spot if you had a keen eye and well-honed spacial recognition.

Steve knew a couple of other tricks that Clint had told him about. Nat smacked both of them on the arm and complained that they were ruining the fun.

“Yeah, too bad Hawkeye’s not with us,” Bucky said. “He could beat every game here with his fuckin’ eyes closed. Remember that year he won like ten animals and was just givin’ em away to kids?”

Tony was about to respond when his eye caught on one of the robot prizes at the shooting range. It had been hanging on its rack so long that its arm was completely misshapen. “Oh my god, look at that dummy,” he laughed. “Poor thing, even if someone managed to win, no one would ever want him.” He wandered closer tipping his head to eye it. As much as he mocked it, he was drawn to it as well.

“You will get this for Tony,” Natasha declared. She elbowed Bucky sharply in the ribs.

“What?” Bucky rubbed at his side with one hand. “That? _Why,_ in God’s name? It’s hideous.” He laughed, then actually looked at Tony. Sighed. “Fine, fine.”

“Oh, god, no,” Tony said, because it _was_ a rigged game. “Haven’t you been listening? All these games are cheats! Gun’s probably underpowered and has bad sights. You’d just be throwing money away.”

Steve shook his head slowly. “You haven’t seen Buck shoot, Tony,” he said, softly.

Bucky gazed at the paper targets and then studied the specific requirements to the game. Shoot the star out of the center with a hundred BBs. Any red showing on the target disqualified. One cleared star gained a medium sized toy. Four cleared stars for a large toy. At $2 for a hundred BBs.

“Ten dollars,” Bucky said, stepping back for a moment. He raised a thumb to compare the size of the star, murmuring to himself, then finished up with, “One to self-zero, the rest to get the big prize. You want it?”

Tony hesitated, and looked at the ridiculous robot. He did, actually. “Promise if you hit the end of the ten you won’t let them talk you into another try,” he said, because that was the biggest rig of all -- human pride and stubbornness.

Bucky nodded, once. “I won’t need it. Promise.” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a rather sodden ten. Most of the other booths were manned by perky teenagers or foreign exchange students with adorable name tags, stating their first names and state or country or origin. The guy behind the target practice booth was squat, broad shouldered, and had ridiculous sideburns. His name tag read “Logan” and declared him as Canadian.

“Goan try your luck, bub?” Logan asked, taking the ten and tucked it in his apron without looking at it.

“Nothing to do with luck,” Bucky said. He bent, touched the ground carefully, studying the pavement, then got up, placing his feet carefully. He scuffed a line and then put his toe right on it before settling into his stance. He rolled his shoulders, let his neck pop loudly.

Logan rolled his eyes -- he’d obviously seen all this before and wasn’t the least bit impressed.

“Stevie?” Bucky asked. “Pick me one, yeah?”

Steve nodded. He lifted the first gun, studied it, then put it down. Three rifles went into the discard pile, then he handed Bucky a weapon. Bucky felt the weight, sighted down the barrel. Scowled.

“There’s none better,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Gaffed piece o’ shit,” Bucky declared. He popped the BB cartridge in. He inhaled, looked. His face grew still, eyelids barely fluttering. He fired in small clusters, three or four shots at a time. Hard to tell what he was aiming at as he adjusted his stance, shifted the weapon slightly. He punched small clusters of holes in the target, around the edge. Alongside the star. Under it.

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, broadside of a barn might help.”

Tony snorted. “Stop trying to put him off.” He was watching the little holes appear in the paper, listening to the soft _pfaff_ of the air-rifle’s firing. He could see, he thought, maybe, the pattern Bucky was testing. _Pfaff!_

Tony frowned and listened harder. Each soft shot was accompanied by a tiny hiss. Not the kind of thing that was easily noticed, but... Tony picked up one of the reject rifles and turned it over, examining it. Yeah. The air-pressure can was built to leak. Just a tiny bit. Just enough to steal a little force, let a few of the BBs bounce off the heavy paper of the targets. “Hey, Bucky, if you’re willing to move your hand a little bit, you can get at least a ten percent pressure differential. Maybe more.”

“Check,” Bucky said, flat and emotionless, even less expressive than the ridiculous stuffed robot he was shooting to win. He shifted his grip, just a bit. The next shot punched a much bigger hole in the paper and that earned Tony a particularly black look from Logan.

Tony shrugged and grinned. “Look, place like this, you’re not on commission. Relax.”

Logan flicked his eyes to Bucky, then grinned back. The expression lightened his features considerably and Tony decided that, under the terrible sideburns and scruff, he was actually pretty good looking. “Part of the image, bub,” he said. “Why d’you think they keep me here an’ not runnin’ beltchecks on th’ Chariot?”

“Because you don’t look like Fabio?” Steve suggested. Logan looked startled for a moment, then laughed.

Bucky ignored everyone, his gaze narrowing. The last dozen shots of his first batch were precision placed, two each on the tips of the star, two in the center. He lowered the gun. The star was still almost entirely intact.

Tony eyed the target -- he could _see_ Bucky’s aim getting better, a few early shots that were inches away from the star, but then the clusters tightened and closed in on it neatly. Maybe this _was_ possible. He whistled softly. “Where the hell did you learn to shoot?”

“Camp,” Bucky said, shortly.

“Move on down to the next target,” Logan suggested.

Bucky gave him a flat look. “Pin up a new one,” he countered. “My position’s good here.”

Logan gave an extremely put upon sigh, but tacked up a new target. “Have at, bub.”

Steve put a hand on Tony’s shoulder and drew him back a step. “Stand where he won’t see you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “He kinda… gets in the zone.”

Tony nodded and stepped back even further. “That’s kind of amazing,” he told Steve. Bucky was already well into the next target, clipping around the star. “That’s a hell of a camp.”

Steve inhaled sharply. “Yeah, you don’t know the half of it,” he said, low and almost angry.

Tony tore his gaze from Bucky’s target to check Steve’s glare. “Want to fill me in?”

“Buck’s dad -- Big Jim is what we all called him -- was a macho kinda guy,” Steve said. “Jim was… not pleased with the way Buck turned out. _Girlie_.” Steve chewed on the word like it tasted bad. “Went to a lot of trouble to try to force Buck to _man up_. Survival camps, deer hunting, monster truck rallies, all the stuff manly men are supposed to be interested in. Thought Buck was gonna lose his lunch th’ first time Jim made him gut a deer.”

Tony grimaced. He didn’t think his dad cared about his sexuality -- Tony was a disappointment in so many other ways -- but he could sympathize. “Did we, uh. Step on something?” he asked, eyes drifting back to Bucky’s careful stance. “Should I apologize?”

Steve shook his head. “Buck… well, there’s a few things you should probably know about him, if you two are gonna make a successful run of it. The first thing is that he’s the most fuckin’ stubborn son of a bitch I ever met in my life. That, coming from me, should tell you something. Buck mastered everything; football, baseball, hunting, shooting, fishing. All of it. Won MVP in high school for sports two years running. Didn’t change anything, he loves who he loves. But he didn’t give Jim an inch to complain about. He did _everything_ that was required of him. Made Jim proud, out of pure fucking spite.”

Tony huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah? And what else should I know?”

“He doesn’t know how to let go,” Steve said. “Once he makes up his mind, he’s with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky stepped back, lowered the gun. Logan made a show of inspecting the targets: each one had a neat, almost perfect circle cut out of the very middle, not a speck of red-dyed paper to be seen.

“You sure you want that ugly thing, Tony?”

“It’s so awful, I _have_ to have it,” Tony agreed. “I’ll probably donate it to a preschool or something in a week, but-- _look at it_.”

“If I’d known you wanted that old thing,” Logan said, taking it off the hook and handing the battered looking bot to Tony, “I’dda just _given_ it to you to get it off m’ booth.”

“Liar,” Nat said to Logan. She patted the stuffed animal. “It is adorable and you love it,” she told Tony.

“It is atrocious and... yeah, I kind of do.” Tony juggled it a little to make it possible to carry, trying not to let it pick up too much of the water still left in his clothes. “Come on, Dummy.” He beamed and leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

Bucky cracked his knuckles, then slung an arm around Tony’s shoulder. “Sure. If you ever need someone assassinated, let me know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's comment about Fabio is a reference to [this](http://www.ultimaterollercoaster.com/news/archives/april99/stories/040199_01.shtml). Even granting that Steve and Bucky would've been (almost) 8 and (just) 9 when it happened, respectively, it was a local meme for _years_ after it happened, and is _still_ pretty much guaranteed to get a giggle out of anyone who was alive and living in the area at the time.


	4. Chapter 4

Dorkiness aside, the trained animal show was actually freaking adorable. Bucky might have been slightly more adorable, leaning forward and resting his chin on his fists to watch the stage. Cats and dogs and white rats and one very large trained raptor bird made up the majority of the show, although there were a few exotics, including one very fat, lazy-looking porcupine who waddled right down the aisle before stopping to steal a slice of pumpkin from the trainer and ate it loudly on the stage with huge _om-nom-nom_ noises.  

“You can’t tell me that ain’t the cutest damn thing,” Bucky insisted.

“It’s pretty cute,” Tony said. He felt like he was bursting with affection. “You’ve got them all beat, though.”

Bucky ducked his head, which only made him even _more_ adorable, and gave Tony a look from under his lashes.

“Don’t look now,” Steve rumbled from Bucky’s other side, “but I think we’re losing our status as Cutest Couple.”

“They may have it,” Nat said dismissively. “The crown, it weighs heavily. Do you think we could train Liho to do this trick?”

“I’d be happy if we could train Liho to stop puking in my shoes,” Steve muttered.

“If you would stop leaving your shoes in the places she likes to puke,” Nat pointed out.

“Where’s that, exactly? The floor?”

“Anyplace with carpet. Leave your shoes on the tile, it’ll be fine. Cats never hack up a hairball where it’s easy to wipe up,” Bucky suggested.

Steve blinked. “You know, he may actually have a point.”

By the time the sky began to darken into twilight, they had lapped the park three times -- or maybe it was four; Tony wasn’t sure if the shortcut through the middle counted -- and managed to get everyone’s top picks in, along with a lot of other things. They’d ridden all but two of the roller coasters; one had been closed for maintenance, and the line for the newest ‘coaster was so long they decided it probably wouldn’t be worth the estimated two-hour wait. They’d also ridden a solid sampling of the other rides, watched several shows (mostly as an excuse to get out of the heat and sit down for a while), and eaten a ridiculous amount of overpriced snack food.

“We should stake out our spot for the fireworks,” Steve said. “Whaddya think?” He and Bucky immediately began arguing over the best spots, citing general availability and view and proximity to the exits and factors Tony didn’t even understand.

_Fsst!_ Tony turned his head sharply toward the sound and got a mouth full of some foul-tasting spray that Nat had just squirted at him. “C’mon, Nat, what the hell.”

“Bug spray,” she said, holding up the can so he could see. “You will thank me. The mosquitoes here are very terrible.”

“Ug, fine, just don’t spray it right in my face.”

“I was aiming at your neck,” she said. “Not my fault you turned.”

“Well, if you’d warned me...” Christ, they were bickering almost as badly as Bucky and Steve. Tony took the can from her and sprayed the nasty-smelling stuff on his legs and arms, then got the back of Nat’s neck for her. He passed the spray to Bucky when they were done.

Bucky took it and sprayed his own limbs absently, without even missing a beat in his tirade, then smacked the can into Steve’s hand with the force of his argument.

Nat rolled her eyes and leaned against Tony’s side. “They do this every year,” she told him. “And every year, we do the same thing: walk from one spot to another until we find the first one that has enough space for us.”

Tony laughed, entirely unsurprised. “Should we just start walking, then, and make them follow us?”

She considered it gravely, then nodded, tucking the bug repellent back into her bag. “Yes, I think that will be best.” She hooked her arm through his and pulled him between Steve and Bucky, and kept going. It took them a few startled seconds to catch on.

“Wait, hey--” “Where are you--”

“Tony and I are going to find a spot for the fireworks,” Nat called back over her shoulder, not stopping. “If you like, you may come with us.”

Not only did Nat manage to get both Bucky and Steve to follow along, sharing remarkably similar hang-dog expressions, but she found a good spot in Ireland and by virtue of having an impressive amount of cleavage, secured two chairs and dragged them up against the wall. “You sit,” she told Steve, “and I will sit on you. And you -- you will go buy me a beer, since I am wonderful and got us a good spot and you are grateful.”

“And Tony gets the other chair because he’s your smol son and must be protected at all costs,” Bucky drolled. “I see where I’m fittin’ in in the general food chain here. Need I remind all of you that _you_ work for _me_?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to fly, _boss_.” Tony grabbed a handful of Bucky’s shirt and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “Bring back drinks for everyone and I will sit on your lap instead of the chair?”

“Deal,” Bucky said. “Beer, beer, and… Tony?”

“Yeah?” Tony grinned up at him, batting his eyelashes.

“Keep my seat warm,” Bucky said.

Tony laughed and turned to arrange Dummy so he was out of the way but would still have a nice view of the fireworks.

***

It was just as well, Bucky thought, that he hadn’t sat down yet. He was running out of steam, slow but sure, and the aching combination of sore feet and tired legs was starting to make itself known. If he’d sat down, getting up again would have been horrible. As it was, he was feeling the need to have something a little more of the hot and caffeinated variety. If he put a beer in, right now, he was likely to want sleep more than anything else, and it was still at least two hours from the end of the fireworks, trek out to the parking lot and the drive back home and--

_Wham_! He collided briefly with another park-goer who was walking backward. Bucky put out his hands to steady the person, apologized (because it was easier than arguing) and got in the line. The small bar -- which really wasn’t one, since it had two different kinds of beer on tap, and a lot of those terrible aluminum bottles of Budweiser -- had a line that wrapped practically around Ireland by that point.

“... ran right into me,” Bucky heard someone complaining. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t look around. Pretty obvious to him that they hadn’t been looking where they were going, and he’d said sorry, so what more did they want?

The line was glacial, but it was about the only thing that was. Dark was slowly settling on the park, but the humidity was only going up, and the press of more and more bodies made the hot air seem even worse.

“Seen ‘im around,” someone else said. “Him and another fella.” Bucky was slowly aware of the weight of hostile gazes. It _itched_ , right in the middle of his back, like someone was pointing at him. He wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. It was like that, in the park, sometimes, running into the same groups over and over again, even with thousands of people. Bucky’d seen the same girl with pink hair at least four times. So, he’d drawn someone’s attention.

Great. Just… fan-fucking-tastic. He twisted his head, just a little. There was the guy he’d run into, a tall, balding man wearing a Redskins jersey, and the members of his group. Bucky counted. Five. Five of them, and they were all standing, pretty much right by the men’s room, just watching him, and talking in hushed voices.

Someone laughed, high pitched and mocking.

It probably had nothing whatsoever to do with Bucky, probably some other girl, some other group, but… his ears were burning and his neck was hot.

God damn it, he hated this.

_Hated it._

Sweat beaded up at the back of his neck and trickled down his back.

He was catching bits of their conversation; either their voices were a little louder or they’d moved or he was just hyper-aware. Or a combination of the three. His hand clenched, fingers shaking. “... damn faggot…”

He inhaled through his nose, let the air rush out his mouth in a huge sigh. What the hell were they gonna do? They weren’t gonna do anything. It was a public park. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing he couldn’t live with, it was nothing he hadn’t heard before.

And it was better than it used to be; God, Bucky used to hate it when Steve would get involved, all eighty sickly pounds of him. Not that it was always Bucky’s fault that Steve had bruises. Sometimes it was because guys were picking on the girls at school, sometimes because someone’d called Sam the n-word. Sometimes it was because people made fun of Steve’s alcoholic asshole of a father, who hadn’t earned the sort of defense his son made for him.

But every time that it was Bucky’s fault, every time Steve got punched in the face because some kid had called Bucky a fag, or a queer, or any of a dozen different things, Steve would stand up. He always did. Every single time.

Bucky would have done anything to keep that from happening except the one thing he _couldn’t_ do: change who he was.

And he shouldn’t fucking have to.

The group laughed again, ugly. _Mean_. The line moved and Bucky moved with it, further away. He shuffled forward a few more steps, taking the opportunity to glance back.

He should be used to this. It shouldn’t bother him. Who cared what strangers thought? He’d had a damn good day with his boyfriend, with his best friends. Who were they, to ruin it for him, by making him scared, making him self-conscious. Making him wish he was something else?

That burned. They didn’t have the _right_ to ruin this for him.

Another jibe, another joke. Bucky turned, deliberate this time, and glared. _I hear you. I see you._

Redskin Jersey caught the look. For just a moment, just an instant, really, Bucky thought he saw shame. Like it was one thing to gay-bash, but to be overheard being a bigoted idiot, that was something else entirely.

That should have been the end of it. Bucky turned back around, stuffed both hands in his pockets. God, he wished he had his phone, but since they never split up, they’d all just left ‘em in the truck, rather than risk theft or breakage or water damage. He scanned the line in front of him. Not too far to the door, then he could order and get back to his group. A father with a child sleeping on his shoulder was directly in front of him. In front of them was a couple of college-aged girls. In front of them… his eyes narrowed in on a bohemian-dressed woman in her late twenties, early thirties. She had long, straight hair and was wearing a brown dress; her bag had a bunch of pride buttons; rainbows, a pink triangle, the quote about men and bicycles. Support. Someone who’d know.

He breathed a little easier. His heart was still beating too fast, but he felt better. A little.

Bucky glanced back again. They were gone.

That was even better. Bucky turned a complete circle, slow, scanning the crowd and--

“What are you lookin’ at?” Not Redskin Jersey, but his friend. A heavy, too-warm hand fell on Bucky’s shoulder and it was all Bucky could do not to react badly. He did not ever, ever need to be arrested again. He looked at the hand on his shirt.

“Nothin’,” Bucky said, gut churning with anger, fear, adrenaline. What the actual hell. “My friends.” He took a step back and twisted out of the man’s grip. “Do you mind?” Not stellar repartee. Bucky knew damned well he’d think of something bold, or brilliant, or witty, or clever… later. When it didn’t matter anymore. Rehearsing the conversations that would never happen. He would be brave or smart in his head, but never when the situation actually called for it.

“Nothin’,” the guy said, mocking, drawing his voice up in a higher register. “Yeah, I seen you lookin’ at nothin’, boy. You _are_ a boy, ain’tcha?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. _Why don’t you fucking lisp, while you’re at it?_ Bucky straightened out his tee. “Did you want something?” In his mind, he felt Rumlow’s arm under his hand, the way the skin had twisted and slid before he caught his grip, the way he’d turned, just so, and the bone had broken with a startlingly soft crack. So soft, such a tiny sound, lost in the next instant to Rumlow’s pained scream. _I could break you if I wanted to._

And yet, he was still scared. It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken a beating before. Every gay kid and queer that Bucky knew had, at one point or another, had violent hands laid on them.

“I want you to g’to hell where you belong, you little faggot,” the man said, shoving Bucky, who almost fell. Bucky flicked his gaze around. The father with his kid stepped out of line, hurriedly, not looking back. Behind them, there were people craning to stare.

“Least it’d get me away from people like you,” Bucky snapped. The gawkers made it that much worse, Bucky felt like someone had trained a spotlight on his face.

“Buck, what’s the hold up?” And like a rope to a drowning man, there was Steve. An instant of panic, because it was _Steve_ , and in Bucky’s head, Steve was always gonna be a scrawny kid with asthma and chronic nosebleeds and bruises on his forearms from being shaken by his dad.

The other guy, however, he’d never seen anything but Steve the calendar model. All six foot two of him, with muscles for days, and a seriously _the fuck did you just say_ jawline.

Bucky glanced at the Brimstone and Hellfire guy, then gave Steve the best grin he could. “Nothin’,” he said. “Just long lines.”

“Yeah?” Steve had a nose for trouble, seriously, it was like a superpower. He stared down Brimstone and Hellfire, then those crystal blue eyes moved to pin Redskin Jersey and the rest of the wrecking crew with his calm, don’t even try it, gaze. “Think I’ll wait with you, then.”

Brimstone inhaled, looked like he was thinking about starting something anyway, but then his survival instinct apparently got in touch with his amygdala, and he didn’t quite retreat, but backed off. A moment later, they were all gone.

Bucky let himself breathe again. His fingers ached from clenching into fists and he slowly, slowly let his hands straighten out.

“What was that all about?” Steve asked. He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky never felt anything quite so reassuring as Steve’s bulk. Things had changed. God, had they ever.

“Bumped into one of ‘em by accident,” Bucky said. “Guess I got my faggot cooties on him or something.”

Steve snorted and drew a set of circles down Bucky’s arm. “Circle circle, dot dot dot,” Steve said, a schoolyard sing-song. “Now you’ve got your cooties shot. Think you need that more’n him. And Buck… don’t call yourself that, huh? I don’t like it.”

Bucky blinked rapidly. He was _not_ going to fucking tear up in front of everyone. “Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Wasn’t,” Steve said. “I know you can take care of yourself. Just didn’t think it would be fun to spend three hours goin’ over it with park security on my birthday.”

The line finally made it to the front and Bucky went ahead and got four beers. Fuck it. By the time the fireworks were over and they made it out to the car, he’d be sober again. And he needed something for his nerves. Steve grabbed two and led the way back to the group. “Stay close, though,” Steve said. “If they’re stupid enough to try to start something in a public place, I wouldn’t put it past them to try and trip you up again, later.”

And _of course_ Steve was still talking about it when they got back to Nat and Tony. Not that Tony wouldn’t have pegged something wrong, probably. Bucky could only imagine what he must look like, right then. “Here you go, baby,” Bucky said, handing Tony’s beer over.

Tony took it on automatic, but his eyes darted to Steve and then back to Bucky. “What happened?”

Bucky held up one finger, then tipped his beer up and swallowed about half of it, gasping once for air when he was done. He wanted to lie, to make something up, to blow it off, to pretend _nothing_ had happened, because fuck, nothing _had_ happened. “Steve exercising his right to intimidate the fuck out of people,” Bucky said, trying to make a joke out of it.

Tony stood up so Bucky could take the chair, and lifted his eyebrows at Steve. “Do share with the class,” he invited.

“Conflict of belief systems,” Steve said. “Some Holy Roller, giving Buck a hard time.” Steve bared his teeth in something that was not remotely a smile.

“Easy come, easy go,” Bucky said, dropping into the chair a little harder than he meant to. “Took one look at Steve and started thinking maybe he needed better dental insurance. It’s fine. Nothing serious.”

“Mm.” Tony did not sound convinced, but he eyed Bucky for a moment and then just took a gulp of his beer. “This is terrible beer,” he said conversationally.

Steve looked at his own cup. “It’s Guinness, what’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like having to chew my beer,” Tony shot back, but he took another sip anyway.

Sitting was just as painful as Bucky thought it’d be. His feet ached and his legs felt numb. He was still shaking and angry that that was the case. And just as he knew it would, his brain started popping up all sorts of things he could or should have said.

Tony didn’t sit in Bucky’s lap, as promised, but he leaned his hip against Bucky’s shoulder and started carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair, delicately teasing out the tangles left from being drenched and then letting the rides whip it around.

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it _shouldn’t_ matter. “You know, I hate that,” Bucky said. “Thinking of all the shit I coulda said, after the opportunity is over. It’s like, brain, really?”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah...” He rubbed at the back of Bucky’s neck, smoothing the tight muscles. “Sorry, honey.”

Bucky looked up into Tony’s face, frowning at the worried furrow between Tony’s eyebrows. “Don’t be,” he said. “I wouldn’t change anything, I don’t care what they saw, what they think. Just… gets to me, sometimes. I shouldn’t let it.”

Tony looked like he might argue, but then sighed. “Yeah, okay, I’ll... work on that. You ever figure out how to make your reactions listen to logic like that, let me know how.”

“If I lie to myself well enough, maybe it’ll become true,” Bucky said. “Look, c’mere. Can’t change it. You might as well sit with me, yeah?” He wanted that, wanted the comforting weight of Tony across his thighs to ground him and remind him that while there was a cost, the reward was worth it, in the end.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tony said. He carefully moved his absurd stuffed robot out of the way and then settled on Bucky’s lap, winding his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and dropping a kiss on Bucky’s forehead. “They got off easy, you know,” he said. “It might’ve been Nat who went to check on you.”

“Pretty sure siccing Nat on _anyone_ is against the laws of polite warfare,” Bucky said. The music finally changed from the typical Irish folk to the more patriot brassy mix. “Here we go…” He tipped his beer back and polished it off, letting the last of the adrenaline bleed out.

Tony leaned into Bucky more firmly, tipping his head back to search the sky for the first bright explosions. “‘S been a good day,” he said into Bucky’s ear, just audible over the swelling music. “Thank you.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and leaned his chin against Tony’s shoulder, ostensibly looking at the fireworks, but really more interested in the play of delight across Tony’s face, the reflection of cascading lights in his eyes. “The best,” Bucky agreed.

It got even better after the fireworks were over. They were making their weary way out of the park and Nat insisted on grabbing an ice cream, messy and full of whipped cream and honey, to nibble as they shuffled along with the rest of the departing crowd making their way to the parking lot shuttles. And in what Bucky didn’t believe in the slightest was accidental serendipity, she managed to dump almost the entire thing on Hellfire and Brimstone’s head. Her apology did not sound very sincere, even if it was delivered almost entirely in Russian.

“There are times,” Bucky said, putting an arm around Nat’s waist and drawing the four of them into a single line, “where I believe you must actually like me. I’ve never seen you sacrifice ice cream like that before.”

Nat smiled, thin and fierce. “You are worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Busch Gardens Williamsburg](https://seaworldparks.com/en/buschgardens-williamsburg/) used to be called _Busch Gardens: The Old Country_ , and is loosely themed around old-world medieval Europe. _Very_ loosely. Sort of. (Except for the one little bit that’s... colonial French Canada? Wtf?) It’s utterly ridiculous, but they were the first amusement park ever to have a roller coaster with two loops (one goes through the other, even) and it’s pretty regularly voted one of the most beautiful and well-maintained amusement parks in the country. 27dragons lives close enough to hear their fireworks on the 4th of July from inside her house, if things are relatively quiet.


End file.
